The Evidence Locker: Drabbles and Ficlets
by Surreal13
Summary: A collection of short fics and drabbles set pre-series and in the first season. Ratings from G to PG-13; read headers carefully.
1. Express Delivery

**Title: Express Delivery**

**Rating: G**

**Triggers/Warnings: Abandomnet**

**Spoilers: None/set pre-series**

**Notes: Written as comment fic for Elrhiarhodan's Prompt Fest. Prompt: Satchmo - Express Delivery**

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"El don't be mad," were Peter's first words to her as she walked in the door. From another man, those words might have conjured thoughts of an affair, or maybe a ridiculously expensive "man toy". Not with Peter, though. It meant he had probably done something ridiculous that he felt he needed to beg forgiveness for. Before she could formulate a response a golden ball of fur shot across the floor and barreled into her legs.

"Uh, it's an express delivery of love?" Peter said. It was a horrible line, and if she weren't trying to sort out her own emotions about the dirty, smelly puppy sniffing her, Elizabeth would have laughed.

The guilty, hopeful expression on her husband's face told her more than anything else. No wonder he looked torn between fond amusement and terror; Elizabeth had never really wanted a dog, and yet, here was one in her home. A stinky, filthy puppy. Peter must have a good reason for bringing the little one into their home because this sort of impulse was so not like Peter at all.

"He and his litter mates were abandoned in a dumpster," Peter admitted. "Found them at a crime scene, and we should have taken them to the shelters, but everyone took one, except this guy. I couldn't just leave him."

Peter looked angry. Elizabeth felt angry; who could do that to an animal? The puppy was unconcerned about the humans' grumpy moods, and instead did a happy, uncoordinated wiggly dance of joy around her feet. He tripped over his own paws, and settled for rolling onto his back so she could scratch the soft fur of his chubby belly.

The battle was over before it had really started; El knew it the moment those big brown eyes looked up at her. Add the puppy's expression of slavish devotion, and she was won over. "All right," she agreed, and picked the little one up.

**fin**


	2. Traffic Lights

**Title: Traffic Lights  
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**Rating: G**

**Spoilers: None; set Pre-series  
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**Warnings: Yappy dogs**

**Paring: None. **

**Notes: Written as comment fic for Elrhiarhoden's Prompt Fest. Prompt: Alex - Traffic Lights**_**  
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Traffic lights were such a pain. Alex had somewhere to be at a very specific time, and she was stuck sitting at a red light that didn't seem inclined to change anytime soon.

She needed to be at Gerrard's estate in ten minutes, and now she'd be lucky to arrive there in fifteen. Neal was good; he would deal with the change of plans. Not that it made Alex feel any better. She didn't like to leave him behind to deal with trouble on his own.

He had a penchant for trouble.

"Oh come on!" Alex groaned. There weren't even any cars on the street! Finally the stupid light changed and she drove as fast as she dared to the meeting point they had set up earlier that week.

It was no surprise as she pulled up to the curb of the building eleven minutes later that he was a little more anxious than he needed to be at her lateness. He didn't say anything, however. He just tossed the black case in the backseat and hopped in.

A sleek black car started to follow them, and Alex felt her stomach tighten. "You got caught?" she asked unnecessarily as the car followed them. She pressed her foot to the gas pedal and hoped that there weren't any cops around to see her speeding.

"I might have attracted the attention of Gerard's favorite Yorkie," Neal admitted sheepishly. All the sneaking around and he was caught because of four pound dogs. Great.

The traffic light had just turned yellow and Alex decided not to risk stopping, even though the car behind them was gaining on them - and fast. The light turned red, and as the black sedan breezed through it, a cop suddenly flashed its lights, forcing the car to pull over.

Alex smiled to herself. Sometimes traffic lights could be good things.

**fin**

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**Big thanks to all who have read and reviewed! I really appreciate it! And for everyone tracking this story, again, thank you so much. **

**If anyone has a prompt they'd like filled, please drop me a line. I enjoy a challenge. :-)  
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	3. Fireflies

**Title: Fireflies**

**Rating: PG**

**Warnings: A bit of blood, nothing too gory.**

**Spoilers: None. Set sometime before the end of season one.**

**Written as comment fic for Elrhiarhodan's Prompt Fest. Prompt: Lauren Cruz - Fireflies**

**Also: Thank you to everyone who has read this, and big thanks to the reviwers! I really appreciate it. I really do!  
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"The braves couldn't see, but the fireflies came down and surrounded them," Lauren said in a drowsy voice. They were both stained with blood. Most of it was hers. Neal had escaped with a bullet graze on his arm and a bruised forehead. Thankfully he'd come around pretty quickly to help her out since she was a bit indisposed at the moment. Neal was cradling her head in his lap, his jacket draped over her to keep her warm. He had torn his expensive Italian shirt into strips for makeshift bandages for the gunshot wound on her leg and arm.

He pressed one of his hands on her shoulder wound, using the sad remnants of his t-shirt to stem the flow of blood. She was clinging to his other hand in pain and fear. Or she had been. She was feeling sleepy and her grasp had grown slack the last minute. Or two minutes... He had suggested that she tell him a story to keep him from falling asleep since he was bored of waiting for Peter to rescue them.

Silly boy. She knew what he was up to. He was just trying to keep her distracted from the idea that maybe Peter wouldn't get there in time. Between the silencers and the fact that the radio signal had apparently been blocked somehow, it was unlikely Peter even knew they were in trouble yet. Lauren shifted and gasped as the movement sent searing pain through her body. Her vision dimmed and almost went black, but then Neal tightened his grip on her hand.

"The braves, Lauren," Neal prodded her, his tone sharp and commanding. "Come on, Lauren. What happened to them?"

She should reprimand him for using her first name. He wasn't supposed to get too familiar with the team...no wait. It was the opposite: she wasn't supposed to get so familiar with him. That was right, yes. Since she was probably dying, she decided not to argue with him over the name thing. It was nice, at least, that she had company at the end. She had to think about where she had left off, and then she picked up the thread of her story. "The fireflies led the braves through the storm, through the forest and to the creek, over a bridge and back to the meadow."

Lauren laughed because she knew she had gotten the story mixed up. "Or something...lots of directions. Thank god for GPS. And fireflies. Would get lost without them." Oh dear...her words were slurring. That was a bad, bad sign. She was very tired now and she closed her eyes. She couldn't feel much of anything right now, and she was glad. She liked this half-fog she was in, being held by a handsome man who was an almost-friend as her life slowly ran out. It was not the worst way to die.

Neal chuckled, but he sounded worried. He put more pressure on her shoulder wound, and brought her back out of the hazy place for a second. She opened her eyes and looked up at his concerned face. He really was very nice. She should have told him so before this happened. "Stay with me, Lauren. You haven't finished your story. Did they find her?"

"Oh yes," Lauren said. She loved this story. Her part-Cherokee grandmother used to tell it to her at night when she was lonely and afraid after her mother left. She saw Neal's eyes soften,a and she realized she must have said all that out loud. Stupid blood loss and imminent death. It made her so talkative.

"The fireflies led them right to her. And then they flew up higher and higher, and became bright lights in the sky. I mean, the fireflies did. Not the braves." Lauren laughed again, but this time it sounded very far away and her vision was getting dimmer. Oh dear. The end was near.

"That's why the Cherokee treat fireflies as if they were sacred." Lauren sighed and leaned a little more against Neal, soaking up his warmth. He was warm and brave and beautiful. She wished she had gotten to know him better. She thought maybe they could have been good friends. Since she didn't have time, she struggled to put an end to her story before she faded away.

"I like fireflies," she whispered. "I used to pretend I could be one. Lighting up the world when it's dark, helping people...Is stupid, I know. But true. You can do that now. Promise me."

She felt herself drifting away to sleep but she felt more at peace when she heard Neal's voice say gently, "You're still like that, Lauren. Hey...no, stay with me...don't go to sleep! I'll do it, ok? Lauren -" She wanted to hold on because Neal sounded so afraid, but her strength was gone. Before she went to sleep, she thought that it was good for Neal to have heard her story. Maybe it would help...help him...

She woke up in the hospital three days later. Her brother was by her bedside, crying and praying with gratitude that she was still alive. She was on the good stuff and it took her another two days to be aware enough to realize that she had in fact survived and that her brother was not a cast member of a Spanish soap opera she liked to watch.

The sixth day of her stay in the hospital, she was allowed to have visitors. Peter and Jones showed up, leaving presents and cards from the entire office. She didn't look them over because she had to give her statement, but after they were gone, her brother helped her peruse the surprisingly large pile of gifts.

Her brother held up a handmade card caught her eye. "It's not signed," he said, his voice somewhat puzzled. Lauren reached out and took the card carefully. The cover of the card was a beautifully drawn firefly. Inside the card, in Neal's loopy scrawl, were the words, "Don't forget who you are."


	4. Out of the Heart of Darkness

**Title: Out of the Heart of Darkness**

**Rating: R**

**Spoilers: None; Slightly AU; set pre-series **

**Pairing: Peter/Elizabeth**

**Warnings: Rated for mentions of childhood abuse (physical, sexual), and for non-graphic mentions of sex.**

**Notes: Written as comment fic for Elrhiarhoden's Prompt Fest. Prompt: Peter - Heartburn. I expanded it and gave it a title. Title comes from a quote by Jean Giraudoux**

_Sadness flies on the wings of morning and out of the heart of darnkess comes the light._

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Trust and faith had vanished from his life when he was ten. His piano teacher, Rob Hinkley, gave him special lessons - ones he would never forget. He went to his mother for help, but she was lost in her bottle and was busy with phone calls to someone named Henry. She couldn't or didn't care. His father was buried in work and wouldn't be bothered. He told him to talk to his mother about it. The church tried to mediate but things got worse. God couldn't help him, and no one else would.

Ridiculed, harassed by others, he transferred schools. One detail his parents forgot: Rob remained his teacher. Two more years passed. One day Rob told him that he was too old and finally he was released from the physical torment. The psychological pain - the heart pain - lasted for a much longer time.

He was thirteen when he found his mother's body in the kitchen, the bottle that had finally killed her still clutched in her hand. She had been a pretty woman, but as he looked down at her he felt...nothing. Maybe he felt a little sorry for her, but he had barely known her. Dimly, he wondered if that made him a bad child, but he didn't dare ask his father and he didn't know who else he could ask.

The ambulance came and went, and his father stayed at work to finish important business. He made dinner on his own, and fell asleep on the sofa. He remembered waking to feel his father press a kiss to his forehead, the one time since he was a small child he could remember his father touching him. They didn't talk about his mother the next day, or any day after that. There weren't many people to attend the funeral; his mother and father were both only children and their parents were dead. His father returned to work an hour after the funeral and left him to his own devices.

The rest of Peter's childhood was remarkably dull aside from the usual teenage traumas. He had girlfriends but things never went very far (PTSD was not something they talked about). There were sports, and a broken arm (no more music, thankfully), and then graduation with the second highest GPA. His dad managed to go to his graduation, and he got a car for a gift in lieu of a party.

He went off to college, and found he didn't fit in. He was awkward, unsure and shy around other people. He tried and failed miserably in the dating world. He still couldn't let go around them, so he tried dating guys and realized he was even worse at that. He attended all the right classes (dull, every one of them), intent on taking the path of his father. On a weekend home during his third year of school he looked at his father and all he could see stretched before him was a miserable, lonely life without purpose.

He wanted more. His father scoffed at him, but didn't totally discourage him as he took his own path. His fourth year in school he was found by the FBI. Training, followed by more training and then he was placed in the white collar unit. He loved it; it challenged him and it was something he found he was good at. His very first solo case he met Elizabeth. She was...amazing. She made him feel alive again for the first time in years - maybe his entire life.

He fumbled, tongue-tied around her as he mumbled about Italian food. He couldn't ask her out; couldn't bear the thought of rejection. She was way out of his league; classy, beautiful, strong. He had a forty dollar suit, manners that bordered on boorish and he was empty, his heart burned and crumpled by life.

Peter left her that afternoon at the gallery but couldn't get her out of his mind. The next day he began to tail her. He knew that his behavior was wrong, possibly (probably) dangerous, but he needed to see her. Elizabeth was the one. He was sure of it, but he couldn't trust her yet. He needed to know if she were free; he wanted to see who she was before he asked her out.

One day two weeks later, she held up a sign for him, and it changed everything. She wanted him too. Why, he had no idea. But she did. His heart came alive like never before and for the first time he felt a small stirring of hope. It was fragile and beautiful, and something else he thought had died long ago.

They dated; they kissed. Peter was awkward but gentlemanly, and she laughed with and at him in such a way that he finally relaxed around her. A month of dating stunned him; it was his longest relationship yet and she didn't seem to want to go anywhere. She invited him upstairs one Friday night, and they watched a movie. She kissed him. He kissed her, and his hands naturally slipped up under her shirt. She moaned and pressed herself against him, and soon their clothes were on the floor and they were on her bed.

Things went badly and ended with him struggling for air as panic closed in on him. She talked him through it, held him, comforted him and she didn't laugh. She didn't leave and she didn't demand he explain himself to her. Because she made no demands, because she was good and light and beautiful, he found himself telling her everything. His piano teacher, his parents' indifference.

He cried once. She cried the entire time, and never let go of him. She kissed him tenderly and then Elizabeth did something incredible. She let her guard down too, and showed him that he wasn't alone. She told him about her past, showed him the scars (mental, physical, heart) that she bore from her father's temper. They cried together then, relieved and sad and joyful. They kissed and fell asleep on her bed tangled together so it was impossible to tell where Peter began and Elizabeth ended.

The next three months they learned how to put each other (and themselves) back together. They pieced together their hearts slowly, carefully, and guarded each other fiercely from outside pain.

They made love one rainy night and it was as if they were made for each other. It was perfect. They cried anyway from the beauty and grace of that moment and fell asleep wound tightly around each other.

One day a week later he handed her a ring. He didn't ask her anything, she didn't say a word. She simply slipped the ring on her finger. They were married a month later and they never looked back.

**fin**

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**Thank you to everyone who has read this, thanks to everyone who has reviewed! I really appreciate it!**


	5. Songbirds

**Title: Songbird  
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**Rating: PG for language  
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**Spoilers: Minor ones for first season  
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**Warnings: Part IV refers back to "Out of the Heart of Darkness" from Chapter 4.  
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**Paring(s): Peter/Elizabeth - non-sexual; Christie/Diana - non-sexual  
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**Notes: Written as comment fic for Elrhiarhoden's Prompt Fest. Prompt: _Songbirds_****. **

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**I.**

Neal loved to sit on the Burke's patio. They had a nice little backyard for being in Brooklyn, and he liked nothing more than to sit outside on warm days and listen to the birds singing. He was especially amused that a pair of Monk Parakeets had taken up residence in their small yard, and he enjoyed listening to them calling at each other.

With the sunlight slanting down on him and the birdsong filling the air, Neal was reminded of all the small things he'd missed in prison. He sipped at his iced coffee and started to read over a file while he waited for Peter to join him. Satchmo raced over to him, tail between his legs, and squeezed himself between Neal's out-stretched legs and the chair. Perplexed, Neal chuckled and rubbed the dog's ears affectionately before he closed his eyes, tipped his head back and allowed himself to be swept up in the natural symphony around him.

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**II. **

Satchmo didn't like songbirds. He couldn't catch them and they would sit just out of his reach and taunt him. One time he'd found a little hapless one on the ground. He had nudged at it and couldn't decide what to do, especially with the larger birds swooping in on him and pecking him. He brought it to Mommy and Daddy so they could take care of it.

It didn't go very well. Daddy had scolded him, Mommy let out a yell when the little one flapped and flopped into his water dish, and Neal, his new friend, had just laughed. Satchmo spent the rest of the night in disgrace. He didn't even get to finish his food.

He didn't understand his pack's reaction but Satchmo learned his lesson. The next time he saw a wee little one flapping around with other birds around it he hid under the chairs on the deck, seeking refuge under Neal's legs for extra protection.

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**III. **

To Elizabeth, songbirds were a reminder of the summers she spent with her grandmother, learning all the names of the brightly colored bids and memorizing their calls. They were some of the happiest memories she had, and in honor of those memories, she set up the small Brooklyn backyard to be a haven for the birds. Every time she heard a lark's song she thought of Nana and smiled.

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**IV.**

The only fond memory Peter had of his parents was from when he was quite young. They had taken him to the zoo (one of their last outings as a family), and they spent the day wandering the park and looking at all the animals.

They had gone to the "bird house" at his mother's request. His father had laughed at her but had cheerfully acquiesced. They spent a long time there, and oohed and ahhhed over the bright little birds. It was one of the only times he could remember them all holding hands, and he kept that memory close to him on his loneliest days.

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**V.**

June loved giving Neal an excuse to accompany her to the park. He never wanted to impose on her, but he lit up with happiness when she included him in her little family functions. Watching him brighten, and his spirits lift as he listened to the birds warmed her, and for a moment, sometimes she could imagine it was Byron beside her.

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**VI. **

Hughes was born in New York. He knew all about birds - rats with wings. They pooped everywhere, were ridden with diseases and they nested in inconvenient spots. Then one day his daughter found an injured yellow finch.

Much to his chagrin she brought it to him because he could fix anything. It was like holding a ray of sunshine; bright, beautiful and delicate. He took it to the animal hospital, and spent the next two weeks constructing elaborate birdhouses with his children.

Despite the splinters, headaches and stubborn paint that he couldn't remove from his nails, he found those to be some of the best moments in his life.

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**VII. **

"This is what I spent all week looking for?" Jones asked. It had been his first solo case and to be honest, he was not happy about the outcome. "This?"

"Yep," Peter confirmed, his eyes twinkling. "This is it."

"How much is this worth?" Jones asked, just to be certain he understood that the wobbly, copper songbird they'd found in a safe was indeed the Super Secret Item the bad guys had been wanting.

"Eight hundred grand - when it was new and undamaged. Now? Maybe about a hundred bucks. Really guys, stop laughing at Jones. He worked hard to find this…thing," Neal scolded as the other members of the team giggled. He was supposed to be the best liar out of the group and even he was failing miserably at trying to contain his laughter.

"I hate birds," Jones groaned as he glared at the ugly figurine he'd lost three nights of sleep over. As if on cue, the beak fell off the damn thing, and everyone, including him, burst into hysterical laughter.

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**VIII.**

Christina proposed to Diana in the park one morning. They sat on the bench together and kissed as a pair of cardinals chirped in the tree above them.

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**IX.**

"Secret government employees?" Peter demanded. Even Neal looked a little askance, and he was used to Mozzie's eccentricities. "Really? You thought the F.B.I. was using blue jays to spy on you?"

Moz had the grace to look embarrassed. "It was an old theory...Never mind. You want to go see the new Ninja film at the theater?"

Peter and Neal grinned at each other and Mozzie knew that his blue jay theory was going to get him a lot of teasing the next few days. On the bright side, he hadn't seen that smile of Neal's in far too long. A little bruised pride was well worth the cost of seeing Neal cheered up, and judging by the knowing look in Peter's eyes, he knew the F.B.I. agent felt the same way.

"Ah, but I didn't tell you my theory on the buntings," Mozzie said as they left Neal's place.

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**fin**

_Thank you to everyone who has been reading this, and big thanks to my reviewers. I'm working on a request from one of my reviewers; that should be up later this week. Thanks again!_


	6. Crickets

**Title:** Crickets

**Rating:** G

**Warnings:** Crickets :D

**Notes:** Written for Promptfest IV. Prompt: Satchmo – Crickets

Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! :-)

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Satchmo loved crickets. He loved to watch them. He loved to listen to them. He loved the way they smelled, and when he found squished ones he'd roll and roll and roll in them until he had the scent all over him.

When he could find them, he loved to chase them - especially the fat black ones that found their way from the basement and into the yard.

But more than anything else, Satchmo loved to eat them.

He loved them so much he wanted to share, and so he would sometimes leave one on the living room rug for Mommy and Daddy, but for some reason they never ate them. Neal, who came over to play with Mommy and Daddy, did not seem to like them either, and was very upset when Satchmo woke him from a nap to drop a half-alive giant cricket on his chest.

The loud shriek had Satchmo darting under the table for cover. That was when he finally understood that humans had no taste, so he kept all the crickets to himself from then on.

Satchmo didn't mind.

**~fin**


	7. Never Judge a Book by its Cover

**Title: Never Judge A Book By its Cover  
****Beta:** None, all mistakes are my own  
**Rating:** G  
**Pairings:** Neal/Kate  
**Warnings/Triggers:** None.  
**Summary:** Mozzie does some research.  
**Notes:** Written for Prompt Fest IV. Prompt was Mozzie - Backwoods. Pre-series, set before the ficlet _My Roots Are in the Depths of the Woods_  
Minor editing and additions to the original posting.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own White Collar. :-(

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Mozzie had done the research Neal requested. The latest FBI agents in a long string of incompetent fools was named Peter Burke, and Neal wanted to know more about him after literally running into him at the scene of Neal's latest 'job'. Neal was intrigued for some reason and wanted to know as much information as possible on the kind of person Burke could Mozzie dutifully did some digging, talked to his contacts and spent more time than he was comfortable sitting near members of the corrupt government system all so he could get into the mind of one Peter Burke. When he was done sullying his soul, he reported those findings to Neal.

He read off snippets of information to the Neal and Kate in their latest hideout as they sipped stolen wine and nibbled on cheap pizza.

"He's a late-comer to the FBI. He worked as a CPA for several years before he accepted one of the offers from the FBI. He's older than most of their recruits by a good six years," Mozzie said. Neal looked thoughtful. Kate just smirked. Age didn't matter but it was odd that Burke had waited so joined the rank and file of government puppets. "He's from the hinterlands of New York. Upstate, tucked into a no-name town with a population that's just a shade above the poverty line. His father worked construction, his mother was a teacher."

Neal looked over the files that Mozzie had meticulously prepared for him, while Kate leaned against his shoulder and skimmed them for herself. "Why did the FBI recruit him?" she asked. Mozzie had to admit he thought it was a bit of a mystery as well. On paper Peter Burke looked like nothing more than a back country, red-necked hick.

As a kid Burke had won first prize three years in a row in the junior's turkey hunt. Records indicated he'd been an active and enthusiastic hunter for many years. Medical files confirmed a broken leg from being tossed from a horse's back, one concussion from the same and a dozen smaller injuries - burns from campfires, dislocated wrist from a fall out a tree, a broken arm from an ATV accident. Driving records showed Burke had driven a pick-up for the better part of fifteen years.

"He was an excellent student," Neal murmured as he read over Peter's transcripts. "His college transcript is incredible."

Sure, Mozzie thought, the fed did well enough in school and college, but so had all the other agents who had tried to find Neal. The FBI didn't hire morons (even he could admit that) but most weren't creative enough to even get an idea of where to look for his partner in crimel. This agent didn't seem any different.

"I don't think you have to worry about him," Mozzie said, and Kate murmured in agreement. "He's just another Suit. He'll be replaced like all the others."

"Maybe," Neal said, and closed the file with a grin. "We'll have to give him a good time while he's on the case, yes?"

"I'll drink to that," Mozzie said, and toasted his hosts with a flourish. No, agent Burke wouldn't be a problem.


	8. I Wish I Couldn't Cry

**Fic: I Wish I Couldn't Cry **  
**Author:** Surreal_44  
**Rating:** PG, for mentions of suicide/murder.  
**Pairings:** Peter/Elizabeth  
**Characters:** Peter, Elizabeth, Neal, OC (passing mention)  
**Notes:** Written for prompt: _So I found this pic and thought, "I could totally see Elizabeth and Peter like this." Anything h/c, please! As long as it's not a deathfic! Or a Neal-leaving fic! Thanks! /recent/a36/a36pages/a36__  


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Elizabeth Burke was often thankful that her husband's job was less exciting, and therefore, less dangerous than what his colleagues had to face. Normally his cases were dull and boring and the worst things she had to worry about were his appalling eating habits and insane sleep schedule.

On days that she knew he was making arrests, or on the tense cases where he might go undercover, she wouldn't sleep. She couldn't, and instead, would sit up to wait for him to come back to her. When he did arrive home - usually late and always disheveled - she would slowly undress him, pulling his clothes off carefully so she could find any injuries and take care of them. Peter would laugh and tell her that she worried too much, but she could feel the tremble of his body and hear the faint quiver of his voice when things had been a little too close for comfort.

Peter was a strong man but even he had his limits. The times when he came home exhausted and looking as if he'd been hollowed out were the times when Elizabeth was truly frightened. She would take his guns and lock them up in a safe that only she knew the combination to. Then she would sit on the sofa and simply hold him, cradling his head in her lap, threading her hands through his hair as he silently cried out his grief and anguish.

Today had been no exception. He had come home and placed both his weapons in her hands. When their flesh met he actually cringed, and he reeled back towards the sofa, where he collapsed on it as if he had no strength left. His eyes were so haunted she was afraid to ask just yet what had gone wrong, afraid that maybe she didn't want to know. She swiftly went to the safe and hid his weapons away before joining him on the couch. He stared into space, so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't even seem to notice her presence.

"Honey?" she asked with fear in her voice. Different scenarios raced through her mind of Jones dead, Neal missing, Diana hurt... She listened as he spoke and his horror became her own as he whispered in a broken voice about the simple investigation that had ended in tragedy.

The suspect had slammed his home's door in the face of Peter and Neal. They had gotten halfway to the car when the gunshots rang out. Peter broke down the door as Neal called for back-up - but it was too late. The man had shot his two children and wife as they had been eating breakfast before he turned the gun on himself.

None of them survived their wounds.

Peter wept for the whole family, including the murdering husband. "I could have helped him," Peter managed to gulp out between sobs. "I would have helped. I shouldn't have pushed him so hard for information. I should have known..."

Elizabeth rocked and petted her husband, not offering any words of comfort just yet. He wasn't ready to be hear them. Not yet. Later, after he had cried himself out and maybe slept a little she would try to talk to him.

For now she just held him and let him cry.

**~fin**


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